Midnight Falcon

Chapter Nine

The acquisition of power, Jasaray had always said, was not without risk. This thought came to him as he opened his eyes and felt pain at his temple. Lifting his hand he found a lump there, the skin split. He was lying beside the marble bench at the centre of his maze. He struggled to sit, remembering the man who had stepped from the shadows and struck him. I should be dead, he thought. Dragging himself up he groaned as fresh pain throbbed from his skull. Perhaps he believed he had killed me, he thought, sitting down on the bench. It made no sense.

As he sat down he saw that his pale toga was drenched with blood. I have been stabbed! Wrenching the garment open he examined his chest and belly. In the moonlight he could see no wound, and there was certainly no pain, save from the pounding in his head.

Think, man!

Jasaray calmed himself. He had known for some months of the peril he faced, as Nalademus and his Knights grew in power. Yet with his armies in the east he had been unable to confront his old friend and force the issue. So he had waited patiently, allowing Nalademus more and more power, while at the same time organizing subtle troop movements, bringing several loyal Panthers closer to the city. The first of them was camped only five miles from Stone, ready to march upon his order. At this moment Jasaray wished he had given that order, but he had decided to risk another few days. Then he could march nine thousand soldiers into Stone, arrest Nalademus and Voltan, and disband the Stone Knights.

'It could prove a costly delay,' he said, aloud.

Why am I alive? And where is the assassin? Why had he been struck, but not killed? And from whence had come this blood?

Jasaray had been walking alone in the maze. His attacker had been waiting there, armed with a cudgel. Not a knife or a sword. Was the man merely a fool? Or would he return and bludgeon Jasaray to death?

At the far edge of the maze the tiger roared. Did that signal the return of the killer? Jasaray pushed himself to his feet and left the open centre of the maze, moving into one of the darker lanes. The assassin would have to be very good to find his way to Jasaray now.

The tiger roared again. This time the sound was closer. It must be a trick of the maze, thought Jasaray, the sound distorted by the tall, thick bushes. He walked on a little way, but the blow to his head had left him dizzy and weak, and he sat down on a small wooden bench, set in an arch cut into a hedge.

He should have brought the soldiers in and taken a chance on surprising Nalademus, he thought. Foolish man! Timing is always the key to success. You waited too long, Jasaray, he told himself grimly. But I am not dead yet. If I can get to my guards, and send a message to the Panther commander…

He heard the tiger growl again. This time the beast was definitely close. Jasaray froze as the sound of padding paws and heavy breath came to him from the other side of the hedge.

Realization came instantly. The blood on the toga! It was not his. It had been smeared there to attract the tiger.

Swiftly, his pain forgotten, Jasaray wrenched the robe from him and threw it to one side. Then he ran down the lane, cutting left and right.

Never before in his life had the Scholar known panic, and even now, in the midst of terrible fear, he had to acknowledge the sheer genius of this plan. The emperor killed by a wild beast while walking in his maze. Nalademus, as First Minister, would naturally take power, and swiftly appoint his own men to command the Panthers. Little risk of civil war, and no-one to blame, save perhaps some poor animal handler who failed to lock the cage properly.

Oh, it was sweet.

From somewhere behind he heard the tiger roar again. This was followed by the sound of rending cloth. Jasaray ran on, heading for the eastern exit. He forced himself to slow as he neared the archway, and, dropping to his belly, inched himself forward to peer round the hedge. The archway was blocked by a wooden frame, and he could just see the shadows of waiting men beyond it. Rising to his feet Jasaray moved back into the lane. All four exits would be blocked. Jasaray smiled suddenly and shook his head. So this is how it ends, he thought. The man who created the Panthers is butchered by a tiger. 'It is almost droll,' he whispered.

Bane's eyes flared open, and he surged upright. The bedroom, in the west wing of the palace, was moonlit and silent. Bane glanced across at the bed in which Rage slept, close to the balcony. The big man was sleeping soundly on his stomach, one arm hanging over the edge of the mattress, the other curled around a pillow.

It had been a long evening, sitting at the farewell dinner with Jasaray, Bendegit Bran, Fiallach and Rage. The talk was mostly of politics and treaties, and even when it veered away from such mind-numbing topics Bane remained uncomfortable, wishing he was somewhere else. Anywhere else, in fact. For they spoke of Connavar, of his life and legend and greatness. Bane had swallowed his anger. At one point the elderly emperor had turned to him.

'Have you met the king?' he asked.

'Briefly,' answered Bane. 'I won a race. He presented the prize.'

Jasaray looked closely at him, then turned his attention back to Bendegit Bran. 'My agents tell me that King Shard is once more building a great fleet,' he said. 'Is Connavar aware of this?'

'We are all aware of the threat,' said Bran. 'Shard hates Connavar, and has promised to cut off his head.'

'What is the source of this hatred?' asked Jasaray.

Bran glanced at Fiallach. 'You were there, my friend. Perhaps you should tell the story.'

The giant yellow-haired warrior nodded, and Bane saw a look of sorrow touch Fiallach's grim features. 'A raiding party of Vars – led by Shard – sacked my settlement. It was a ransom raid, and they were seeking to capture a young woman named Tae. She was the daughter of a powerful laird, and Shard believed he could extract a great amount of gold for her. He was probably right. Most of the warriors of the settlement had been lured away before the raid. We were in the woods some fifteen miles away hunting a lion. But Connavar was close by, and he trailed the raiders, and freed Tae.'

'He did this alone?' said Jasaray.

'Aye, alone,' agreed Fiallach. 'It is a source of great shame to me that I was not there.'

'How did he accomplish this feat?'

'The raiders had split up, to confuse any chasing force. Connavar killed the men with Tae, then led her deeper into the woods. One of the men he killed was Shard's brother. Shard made a Blood Pledge that day to avenge the death.'

'Great men always make enemies,' said Jasaray. 'I was saddened to hear of the death of Tae, which, as I recall, was also the result of a blood feud. Why has Connavar never remarried?'

The tribesmen had looked uncomfortable at the question, and it was Bran who finally answered it. 'He is wedded to the cause of the Keltoi, Majesty, and has no time for personal pursuits. Much like yourself.'

'Indeed so,' said Jasaray, and the talk had returned to treaties and closer ties between races and cultures.

By the time the emperor ended the evening Bane had almost lost the will to live. He and Rage had returned to their quarters. The older man had taken to his bed immediately. Bane had drunk a little wine and had sat on the balcony, gazing at the stars. Then he too had slept.

The nightmare had been violent and terrifying.

Bane's heart was still hammering, but the nightmare was receding now, falling through his memory. He recalled that Banouin had been in his dream. His friend was trying to tell him something. Bane couldn't remember what it was. Something about a vision! A vision of demons, hunting him? Then he remembered the night, back in the house of Barus in Accia, when Banouin's screams had wakened him. He had run to his friend. 'The walls are alive!' Banouin had shouted, his face gleaming with sweat. 'And there is a demon hunting you, Bane. Ah! I see him. Talon and claw. He is coming for you.'

What else had he said? In the quiet of the room Bane pictured again that scene. 'You were walking through… through corridors, but the walls were alive and writhing. You were carrying a short sword, and there was a man with you, an older man. And a demon was stalking you. A terrible beast of incredible speed and strength.'

Rising from the bed Bane walked to the balcony. It was cool now, a fresh breeze blowing in from the sea. He glanced down, at the emperor's private gardens, and the moonlit maze. He saw a movement. It was the emperor. He was naked, and moving swiftly along one of the lanes. Bane smiled. It was an oddly comical sight. Still, he thought, if a man ruled an empire as mighty as that of Stone, he could behave as he liked. Bane yawned, and cast his gaze around the gardens. Then he saw another movement. He blinked. It had been so swift that he could not quite believe what his eyes registered.

A striped beast had padded across the clearing in the centre, then disappeared from view. Bane focused his gaze on the spot. Lanterns had been lit throughout the maze, and he wondered if what he had seen was actually a trick of light and shadow. Then he saw the beast again. It was massive – and it was hunting.

Bane ran back into the room and roused Rage from sleep. 'The emperor is in danger,' he said.

'What?'

'There is a beast hunting him in the maze.'

Bane moved out onto the balcony, glancing down at the fifteen-foot drop to the grass below. Then he climbed over the top, hung from his arms, and fell to the grass, rolling as he struck. He came to his feet just as Rage dropped alongside him. The older man landed with a grunt. Neither man had any weapon. Only the royal guards were allowed to walk armed within the palace.

They ran around the western perimeter of the maze – straight into four armed men. Two of the assassins carried short swords, the others knives. The first swordsman ran at Bane, lunging his sword towards the other man's chest. Bane side-stepped, grabbed the man's wrist, and head-butted him full in the face. Holding to the wrist Bane twisted it savagely. The man cried out, the sword spinning from his grasp. Rage caught it, leapt forward and killed the second swordsman, slicing the gladius through the man's throat. A knifeman ran at Bane, who ducked, then threw himself at the man. They fell together. Bane sent a right hook into the knifeman's jaw. The last of the assassins turned to run. Rage hurled the gladius, which plunged into the man's back. Bane hit his own assailant twice more, then rose. The man he had disarmed was running back into the palace.

A wooden barrier had been placed across the maze entrance. Rage pulled it clear.

'Be careful,' said Bane. 'The beast was a lion of some kind. And big!'

Rage dragged the gladius from the back of the dead assassin and tossed it to Bane. Then he scooped up the second sword and the two men entered the maze.

'How in heaven's name will we know where we're going?' asked Rage. 'All the lanes look the same.'

'Just follow me,' said Bane.

'You are bleeding, boy,' said Rage. 'Did he cut you?'

Bane glanced down at his pale tunic. Blood was seeping through the cloth. 'No. My stitches broke. It is nothing.'

He began to lope along the lane, Rage close behind him. He turned left, then right, picturing in his mind the maze as he had seen it from the balcony. Vorna's magic had been unable to help him with his reading and writing, but she had told him that nature always finds a balance. 'You have a wonderful memory, Bane, much keener than most men's. You will find it far more useful than the ability to decipher script.'

His side was hurting as he ran, the tunic sticking to the inflamed flesh. Suddenly a growl came from close by. Bane swerved away from the sound, which was emanating from the far side of the hedge. The tiger roared, and began lashing at the hedge with its great paws. Bane stood very still. The hedge was at least three feet thick, and though the branches were thin there were hundreds of them. It would take even a creature such as this a little time to tear a way through.

In the bright moonlight Bane could not yet see the beast. Then a massive paw slashed into view, splintering wood. As the branches parted Bane saw – for a moment only – the face of the tiger, and found himself staring into baleful, golden eyes. Raised on its hind legs the beast paused in its furious assault upon the hedge, and stared back at the man. Time froze as Bane's gaze locked to those terrible eyes, and he felt the power of the beast, the strength, the energy and the terrible hunger. Then the moment passed. The tiger let out a ferocious roar and crashed its huge frame at the hedge, which bent inwards.

'Time to leave,' said Rage.

Bane nodded. 'In a moment,' he replied. Then he called out: 'Jasaray! It is Bane. Make for the centre! We will meet you there.' The two men ran on. From behind them came the sound of wood splintering as the tiger crashed through.

Two more turns to the left, and one to the right, and the two warriors emerged into the centre of the maze. The naked Jasaray was there, standing very still, his hands clasped behind his back. He seemed very calm. Bane ran up to him. Jasaray took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

'We are here to help you, Majesty,' said Rage. 'Not kill you.'

Jasaray opened his eyes and gave a thin smile. 'That is gratifying to hear,' he said, his voice showing no fear.

The tiger emerged from the lane entrance, its huge head swaying as it walked. Bane looked into its yellow eyes, then he and Rage moved a little apart. The tiger watched them as it padded closer. The tail suddenly twitched. And it charged at Bane.

The Rigante stood his ground. As the tiger leapt he dropped to one knee, ramming the gladius into the beast's belly. The tiger struck him, smashing him to the ground. Bane could smell the tiger's fetid breath, and the fangs were inches from his face. Throwing up his left arm he struggled to hold the beast at bay. Rage ran in, hurling himself to the beast's back and circling his arm round the throat, hauling the head back. Then he stabbed the tiger in the side, plunging his blade deep.

The tiger reared up and swung on Rage. Bane, weaponless now, surged to his feet and cast around for a weapon of any kind. His own gladius was wedged deep in the body of the tiger. The creature's tail twitched again, and it leapt at Rage. The old gladiator stood his ground. Bane threw himself at the tiger, his shoulder hammering into the beast's side. Rage darted forward, lancing his sword into the creature's neck. It twisted and lashed out at Bane. The Rigante hurled himself to one side, but not swiftly enough. Talons raked his shoulder, spraying blood into the air. The tiger was unbelievably fast. Even as Bane fell it was upon him. Rolling to his back Bane smashed his fist into the tiger's head. It was like striking rock. Fangs lunged for his face. Once more he threw up his arm, and his elbow lodged against the beast's throat, holding back the attack. Rage stabbed it again. The tiger's body spasmed. It gave a coughing roar and blood pumped from its mouth. Yet still it bore down on Bane. The Rigante struggled to hold it back. With his right hand he reached down. His fingers curled round the hilt of the gladius jutting from the tiger's body. With all of his strength he rammed the blade deeper.

The tiger ceased to struggle. Bane found himself once more staring into those golden eyes. For a heartbeat it was as if their spirits touched. Then the head sagged. Rage dragged Bane clear. The young

Rigante knelt beside the tiger, laying his hand upon the creature's flanks. It was still breathing. Bane felt the weight of a great sorrow touch him.

'I am sorry, my friend,' he said, stroking the fur. 'You travelled a long way to die here.'

The tiger's head twitched, and for a moment it seemed it would rise. Then the light faded from its eyes.

Rage knelt beside the younger man, examining the cuts on his shoulder. 'They're not too deep,' he said, pulling Bane to his feet.

'There are assassins at the perimeter,' said Jasaray. 'I do not know how many.'

'Three less than there were,' said Rage. 'Let's get you back into the palace.'

'First let us take time to think,' said Jasaray. 'The entrance you came through was guarded, yes?'

'Yes, Majesty,' said Rage. 'We killed three, but one escaped.'

There are two other entrances. We must assume they are also guarded. We must also assume, since so many assassins gained access to my private grounds, that some of my guards have been traduced.' Jasaray sat down on the marble bench and gazed down at the dead tiger. 'It is time to smoke out the termites,' he said. 'But first we must clear my grounds of traitors.' He looked at Bane. 'Can you still fight?' he asked.

'I can fight.'

Then let us seek out the other killers.'

Jasaray led Bane and Rage towards the first of the exits. As they came to it they saw the tiger's cage had been wedged between the hedges. Rage moved close to the bars, and peered out. There was no sound or movement from beyond the cage. He and Bane pushed it clear. Three men ran from the shadows. Rage killed two in as many heartbeats. Bane blocked a knife thrust from the third, kicked his legs from under him, then, as he fell, slashed his gladius through the man's throat. Jasaray stepped from the maze. 'Nicely done,' he said.

The third entrance was blocked by two upturned tables. There were no assassins there. Slowly they circled the maze. The grounds were empty.

An hour later Bane and Jasaray climbed a narrow, hidden staircase, which ended at a locked door.

'Are you sure you want to do this?' whispered Bane.

'Life without risk is no life at all,' Jasaray replied. He flicked open a latch, and the two men stepped out into the corridor some thirty feet away from Jasaray's private apartments. Three guards stood outside the emperor's rooms. As Jasaray stepped into sight they momentarily stood and gaped, then they snapped to attention. Jasaray, now wearing a pale grey tunic and sandals, advanced towards the guards. Bane stayed close to him, his sword in his hand.

'It has been an interesting evening,' said Jasaray. 'Has anyone been enquiring after me?'

The first of the guards licked his lips nervously. 'We thought you were asleep, Majesty,' he said. His gaze flickered to the blood-smeared Bane.

'I have not been asleep,' said the emperor. 'I have been struggling to avoid the attentions of a hungry tiger and a group of armed assassins running free in my grounds.'

The door to the apartments opened and Voltan moved into sight. He was wearing his black and silver armour, and was carrying a gladius. 'You are a hard man to kill, Majesty,' he said. The guards stepped aside and drew their swords. But they made no attempt to attack or restrain Voltan.

'You are a thorough man,' said the emperor softly. 'How many of my guards have you turned against me?'

‘These three only,' said Voltan. 'You chose well with the others. Singularly loyal and dreadfully dull.'

Bane stood silently by, ready for the attack. Jasaray seemed unconcerned. 'You might have waited until my death before invading my apartments,' he told Voltan. 'It is such bad manners.'

'My apologies, Majesty,' answered Voltan, with a smile. 'I wouldn't want to be considered rude. But I thought a dozen men and a tiger would be enough. Are you ready to die now?'

'I think no man is ever ready to die, Voltan. Tell me, how will you make it look like an accident now?'

Voltan laughed. 'I do so admire bravery,' he said. 'You always were calm in the face of danger. I shall kill you quickly, and then slash the skin to give the appearance of claw wounds. Clumsy, I know, but you have left me with little choice. You will be given a state funeral, and thousands will walk behind your coffin weeping. I don't doubt more statues will be raised to you, and men will speak for a generation about your greatness.' Suddenly he leapt forward, his sword snaking out. Bane blocked the blow, pulling the emperor behind him. Almost in the same move the Rigante sent a slashing riposte. Voltan leapt back from it, then chuckled. 'I have no time', he said, 'to give you another lesson. Kill him,' he told the guards. The men spread out and advanced.

At that moment there came the sounds of running men, booted feet pounding on the stairs. Scores of soldiers came into sight, weapons drawn, filling the corridor from both ends. Rage moved into view.

Jasaray, his hands clasped behind his back, looked at the treacherous guards. 'Put down your weapons,' he said, 'and your deaths will be clean and swift. Hold to them and I will see that your eyes are burned out, but not before you have seen all your relatives and friends, loved ones and children slaughtered.' His voice was not raised, but venom dripped from every syllable. The three guards, their faces grey, released their weapons, which clattered to the floor.

Voltan stood alone now, sword in his hand. 'Clever, clever Scholar,' he said. 'I underestimated you.'

'Most men do,' said Jasaray. 'Put down your sword.'

'Perhaps I would prefer to die fighting,' said Voltan.

'Of course you would,' said Jasaray. 'And I will arrange it – if you give me evidence against Nalademus. I will let you die, sword in hand, in the arena, before the crowds. Otherwise I will order my men to take you alive. Your legs and arms will be hacked off, and you will be released, to end your days begging for food as a cripple in the streets. Make your choice!'

'I could just kill you and be done with it,' said Voltan, his pale eyes gleaming.

'You could,' said Jasaray, 'but my order would still stand. Can you see yourself begging for crumbs?'

Voltan stood very still for a moment, then tossed his sword to the floor. Soldiers ran forward, pinning his arms and leading him away.

'Wait!' he said, as they came alongside Rage. 'I need to speak to this man.' The guards glanced back at the emperor, who nodded permission.

'What do you want?' asked Rage.

'Orders have been given to arrest Cultists. Hunt teams will set out at dawn. Get Cara away from the villa.'

'Cara?'

'She is one of them. She was with the Veiled Lady yesterday.'

'Thank you,' said Rage softly.

The guards led Voltan away. Jasaray summoned an officer. 'Secure the palace. Relieve all guards and send them to their barracks. Let no-one know what has happened here tonight. And find me a scribe. I need to send several messages.'

'Yes, Majesty,' replied the man.

'And fetch a surgeon for my young friend here.'

The officer saluted and moved away. Jasaray pushed open the door to his apartments and gestured for Rage and Bane to follow him inside. The emperor seated himself on an elegant couch, beautifully yet simply made, and covered with polished black leather. He leaned back against an embroidered cushion and closed his eyes.

'You must be tired, Majesty,' said Rage. 'Perhaps we should let you rest.'

Jasaray gave a thin smile. 'Not a night for rest. Come, seat yourselves.' He glanced at Bane. 'There are towels in the rear chamber. Cover your wounds. I do not want to get blood on my furniture.'

'Might I ask a question?' enquired Rage, as Bane went off in search of towels.

'Of course, my friend.'

'If you suspected Nalademus of treachery, why did you allow him such power?'

Jasaray thought about the question. 'The answer will be difficult for you to comprehend. You are an honourable man. You do not seek high office or power. Men who do are ruthlessly ambitious. They have great belief in themselves. This is what makes them so effective. Men like that are necessary. No empire can grow without them. They mirror nature, my friend. In the wolf pack there can be only one leader, but around that leader are a score of other males seeking to replace him. I do not blame Nalademus for his treachery. What condemns him is that he failed. Now he will suffer the consequences. However, the man I choose to succeed him will also be utterly ambitious. He too will one day seek to overthrow me. It is the ambition of such men that gives Stone its vitality, and purpose.'

'What you are saying is that you surround yourself with future traitors,' said Rage. 'This is a perilous way of life, Majesty.'

Bane returned, a white linen towel draped over his shoulder. At that moment a scribe entered, carrying some thirty sheets of blank paper, and a small box containing pens and ink. The man bowed low. Jasaray rose and walked to his desk by the window. 'You have done me a great service, gentlemen,' he told Bane and Rage. 'I shall not forget it. Come to me tomorrow, and ask of me anything. I will grant it. But for now return to your rooms. I will send the surgeon to you.'

Bane was tired as he made his way along the corridor and down the stairs to his own apartments. He had reached the door before he realized Rage was not with him. Inside several of the lanterns had guttered and gone out, but one was still gleaming brightly. There was a jug of oil in one of the closets and Bane refilled and relighted the lanterns before settling himself down on the bed. He was tired now, and the wound in his shoulder burned like fire. An army surgeon entered, followed by Rage. The surgeon, a small, balding man, peered closely at the talon wounds.

These need cleaning,' he said. 'The claws of big cats carry some kind of poison. I've seen it before on campaigns.'

'Not the claws,' said Bane, 'the fangs. Rotted food clings to them and this infects wounds.'

'Rotten food,' said the surgeon scornfully. 'Where do you tribesmen get such ideas?'

'A better question might be why do we not suffer infected wounds,' said Bane. 'Just stitch it. The flow of blood will have cleaned it.'

'On your head be it,' said the surgeon.

The wounds took eleven stitches, and the surgeon also added two stitches to the torn wound in Bane's side. 'You need to rest for at least two weeks,' he said. Bane thanked him and the man left. Rage sat down on the bed.

'Well,' he said, 'it may not be the way you planned it, but Voltan is now under sentence of death. Your quest is over.'

Bane looked into the old gladiator's dark eyes. 'It will be over when I walk across the arena sand and cut his heart out.'

Rage sighed, and placed his hand on Bane's uninjured shoulder. 'You are a fine and brave man, a brilliant swordsman and fearless in combat. But you can't beat him. He is a freak of nature, big and yet lightning fast. I understand why you needed to see him dead. He killed someone you loved. But he is dead, Bane. Why throw away your life on someone whose fate is already decided?'

'Because I swore I would kill him. I have lived for nothing else.'

'I am sorry you feel that way, boy.' He fell silent for a moment.

'You never had a father, and I never had a son. I think, in some small way, we have filled a gap in each other's lives. Like any father, I do not want to see my son die needlessly. Think on what I have said.'

The dungeon walls were damp, the air fetid and clammy. Built to house twenty prisoners at the most, more than fifty were wedged into the dank, airless room. Norwin sat hugging his knees in the corner. Beside him Persis Albitane sat quietly, his face and clothes filthy, a large red abscess upon his neck, his face marked with bruises, a swelling, angry lump over his right eye. Norwin reached out and gripped his friend's arm. No words were exchanged, but Persis gave a weary smile.

The former slave closed his eyes, recalling the day he and the others had been taken while at a prayer meeting in the woods north of Goriasa. Soldiers had rushed in, carrying clubs and cudgels. Some of the thirty Cultists had tried to run, but they were caught and beaten badly. Then they were bound and hauled off to spend the night in Goriasa's jail. The following morning they had been brought, en masse, to the Court of Magistrates, where a Crimson Priest had been sitting in the Chair of Judgment. Norwin had looked around, and seen the public gallery packed with people. Some of them he knew were Cultists like himself. Others were simply there for the dubious entertainment of seeing men and women sentenced to death.

The prisoners had been herded to stand before the Crimson Priest, and told of their crimes against the state. One man tried to speak, but a Knight cuffed him on the ear, splitting the skin. 'Silence!' roared the Crimson Priest. 'This court has no wish to hear the filthy words of traitors.'

'Why then is it called a court?' came a voice from the gallery. The words hung in the air. Norwin had glanced up at the priest, and seen the shock on his face.

'Who spoke?' he shouted.

'Persis Albitane,' came the response. Norwin was stunned. He looked back to see fat Persis rise from his seat. 'I am a citizen of Stone,' said Persis, 'with full rights and privileges. I see before you at least seven people I know. All are citizens. How dare you suborn the law! In the earliest articles of the city it was laid down that every citizen would have the right to speak in his own defence, and to have others speak for him. You make a mockery of Stone justice.'

The silence in the courtroom was almost palpable. Norwin looked back at the priest. At first it seemed his anger would explode, but then his eyes narrowed and he leaned back in his chair. 'Step forward, Persis Albitane,' he said. 'Step forward and speak on behalf of these traitors.'

Persis did so, easing his large frame past the silent spectators, and moving to stand before the Chair of Judgement.

'I do not know all the defendants,' he began. 'But those I do know have been good citizens, and have never spoken against the emperor, and never sought to bring ills upon the empire. This man', he said, pointing to Norwin, 'is my former slave. He is as good a man as any I have met. I have never known him to lie or to steal, or to show malice against anyone. His crime, as I understand it, is that he and others chose to walk quietly into a wood for the purposes of praying together. To call this a crime is a travesty of justice.'

'It is not called a crime. It is a crime,' said the priest. 'Cultists have been named as traitors by the Stone elder himself, and these views have been enshrined in law. Merely to be a Cultist ensures the sentence of death. Are you a Cultist, Persis Albitane?'

Persis stood very still, and Norwin saw him draw in a deep breath. 'Had you asked me that question a few moments ago I would have told you – with all honesty – that I have never been a Cultist, that I have never attended any of their meetings. But as I look at you and the evil you represent I realize I was wrong to avoid them. I was not a Cultist. But you have convinced me that I should be. And I thank you for it, priest.'

'Condemned out of your own mouth!' shouted the priest. 'And you will die with these other traitors.' Surging to his feet, his face almost as crimson as his beard, he gazed malevolently at the public gallery. 'Does anyone else here wish to speak on behalf of these enemies of Stone?'

No-one had, and the prisoners, including Persis, were herded back to their cells. They were held for three days, then transported in chains to Stone. Norwin and Persis had been separated for most of the journey, and had only been reunited that day, being transported from the dungeons under the Stone Temple to this place beneath the arena of Circus Palantes. One of the guards had taken great delight in telling them of their fate. 'Your teachings say you are to be a light to the world,' he told them, with a wide grin. 'And tomorrow you will be. You will be dressed in oil-soaked rags and nailed by your arms and legs to tall posts set around the arena. Then you will be set afire, my dears. And you will scream and burn.'

'You are a sad man,' Persis had told him. 'And I pity you with all my heart.'

The guard swore and ran at Persis, punching his face and knocking him to the ground. Savagely he kicked the fallen man, then turned and strode from the dungeon. Norwin had helped Persis to sit upright. 'Oh, my friend, what have you done to yourself? You shouldn't be here.'

'No-one should be here, Norwin.'

'Why did you speak up for us? Did you hear the voice of the Source?'

'I heard no voice,' said Persis.

'Then why?'

Persis leaned his head back against the cold rock. 'I have no idea – save that I felt ashamed when I saw what was happening.' He forced a smile. 'Anyway, you would have missed me.'

'Aye, I would have,' said Norwin sadly. 'You are a good man, Persis. A better one than you know.'

Slow hours had passed. The prisoners did not talk to one another, but sat listlessly, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Then the door opened and a young woman was hurled into the dungeon. She landed heavily, striking her head on the floor. Persis and Norwin moved to her side as she struggled to sit. She was young and dark-haired, her face bruised and swollen. Long streaks of blood had stained the back of her dress, and Norwin saw the marks of a whiplash across the top of her shoulders.

'Don't look so holy now, does she?' sneered the guard. 'Without her veil she's just another doxy. Should have heard her scream as the lash fell.'

Persis cradled the woman to him, careful to avoid touching her mutilated back. She lapsed into unconsciousness, her head resting on his chest. There was no water within the dungeon to clean her wounds, no bandages to bind them. But Persis held her to him, and whispered soothing words to her. She curled up against him like a child, and he stroked her hair.

After a while she opened her eyes. 'Who are you?' she whispered.

'Persis Albitane. Rest now.'

'I will rest soon.' He helped her sit, and she slumped against him, her strength all but gone. 'I do not know you, Persis Albitane,' she said.

'Nor I you. It doesn't matter now.'

She fell asleep again. Norwin sat gazing at her in the torchlight. 'She is so young,' he said. 'Little more than a child.'

In the far corner a man began to chant a prayer. One by one the others joined in. When it had finished there was silence in the dungeon once more, but a sense of calm had settled upon them.

'I wish I had time to learn about the Cult,' said Persis. 'It would be nice to know what I was dying for.'

'You'll have plenty of time to learn, my friend,' said Norwin. 'After the burning.'

Nalademus had not slept. He had stalked his apartments throughout the night, his mood alternating between ecstasy and fear. Now the dawn light was bathing the city, and he was tired and irritable. Where was Voltan? Why had he not brought news of Jasaray's death?

Pushing open the doors to his balcony Nalademus stepped outside. The air was sweet and cool, the city stretching out before him, pale and beautiful. This was his day, a day of glory and cleansing. Sixteen months of planning, and the collection of thousands of names. Today would see the Cultists utterly destroyed, and with them the increasingly feeble Jasaray.

His Knights were marching from the barracks, hundreds of them. He watched with pleasure as they moved out into the city, column after column, the officers carrying lists naming traitors. They would be hauled from their beds and dragged back to the Temple. There would be too many for the dungeons, so they would be herded into the Barracks Square, before being transported to the various circus arenas for execution. More and more of his Knights filed out of the barracks. Nalademus watched them with pride. From tomorrow the people of Stone would march towards destiny.

But where was Voltan?

Nalademus stared out along the deserted avenue, hoping to see the Lord of the Stone Knights riding towards the Temple. He swore loudly, and moved back inside the apartment. One of the lanterns began to gutter, and oily black smoke sputtered from the wick. Nalademus blew it out. On the table were the remains of last night's meal, and an empty jug of wine. He picked up a piece of bread. It was stale now and he hurled it to the floor. His huge stomach rumbled. Calling one of the guards he sent the man to fetch him some food, then slumped down in a wide leather chair, his anger growing. Voltan had been growing increasingly arrogant of late. Soon it would be time to dispense with his services. Not yet, though. With Jasaray's death there was still the risk of civil war.

The guard returned with a plate of cold meats and a fresh jug of wine. 'Send Banouin to me,' said Nalademus, taking the plate, and stuffing a handful of ham into his mouth. Moments later there was a rap at the door, and the slim, dark-haired Rigante entered.

'My heart is pounding,' said Nalademus. 'Prepare me a tisane.'

'The emperor is alive,' said Banouin, his voice soft, almost sorrowful. Nalademus jerked, his great head coming up, his eyes peering at the younger man.

'What do you know of this?'

'Everything, lord. I am a seer. Among my people I would have become a druid. Last night I had a vision. It was one I first had several years ago. My friend Bane was moving through strange corridors, the walls alive and rustling. A beast was stalking him. There was an older man with him – a man I did not know. Now I do. His name is Rage. Last night a group of killers tried to murder the emperor, by releasing a wild beast into the maze in his garden. A huge creature – a striped lion. It had been starved for some time. One of the assassins felled the emperor with a blow to the head, then smeared him with blood, and left him for the lion. Fortunately for Jasaray my friend Bane, and his comrade, Rage, entered the maze and killed the beast. Then Jasaray summoned his loyal guards and Voltan was arrested.'

Nalademus sat stunned, his mind struggling to grasp what the boy was saying. 'If this happened last night,' he said, 'why have the emperor's guards not come for me?'

Banouin walked past him and stared out over the balcony, where the last of the Knights were marching out into the city. Nalademus heard the sounds of marching feet, and his heart stuttered. Jasaray knew of today's cull. He was waiting for the Temple to empty.

Nalademus stumbled out onto the balcony and shouted at the departing troops. 'Come back!' he yelled. They did not hear him. He stood for a moment, his thick fingers gripping the stone of the balcony rim, his knuckles white. Then he looked into the calm face of the young man beside him. 'What can I do, Banouin?'

Banouin sighed. 'I am going home, lord. Back to my people. I should never have come here.'

'Help me!'

'No-one can help you.' Banouin turned away and moved towards the door. Nalademus lunged out, grabbing Banouin's arm.

'It was you!' screamed Nalademus. 'You betrayed me!' Banouin lifted his hand and touched Nalademus lightly on the chest. The Stone elder's restraining hand spasmed open and Banouin continued to walk towards the door. Nalademus took a deep breath, ready to shout to the guards to kill the boy, to cut him down before his eyes. Banouin looked at him, and Nalademus found his throat constricting. Then the Rigante was gone.

Nalademus, his heart beating wildly, lumbered out onto the balcony. He felt dizzy and nauseous. Out on the avenue he saw a unit of foot soldiers marching towards the barracks, the morning sunlight shining on their silver armour and their white plumes. They were Jasaray's Royal Guards.

Nalademus stepped back, trod on his crimson robe and fell to the floor. He scrambled to his knees then ran to the dining table. Picking up a knife he sawed at his fat wrist. But the blade was too blunt. The Royal Guards came through the gate. Nalademus tore open the door to the outer corridor. There were two of his guards there. 'Give me your sword,' he ordered the first.

'My sword?'

Nalademus grabbed the hilt of the man's gladius, wrenching it clear of the scabbard. From below came the sounds of a commotion, and voices raised in anger. Nalademus moved slowly back into his apartment, and gazed around at the rich hangings and decorations, the shelves lined with tomes, the golden goblets. And through the balcony window he could see the white and perfect glory of the city.

He fell to his knees and reversed the sword. Wrenching open his robes he placed the blade against his chest, the hilt against the floor. Then he threw himself forward. The hilt slipped, the blade merely slicing through the skin above his sternum and lodging under his collar bone. Hands grabbed him, hauling him to his feet. 'No!' he wailed. 'No!'

During the four days that followed the arrest of Nalademus, and the ending of the power of the Crimson Priests, wild celebrations broke out in every district. Thousands of Cultists were freed from prison, returning to their homes. Many Crimson Priests shaved off their beards and fled the city. Others waited defiantly, continuing their duties, sure that the furore would soon die down. Most of these were arrested, summarily tried, and put to death quietly.

The prisoners in the dungeons below the arena of Circus Palantes knew nothing of the great events in the city above. They were the last to be freed, and, when the dungeon doors were opened, believed they were to be taken for burning. Many cried out, begging for their lives.

'Silence!' thundered the guard. 'You are to be freed on orders of the emperor.'

The prisoners huddled together, unwilling to believe him. Surely, they thought, this was just an attempt to lull them into walking obediently to their deaths. A white-robed councillor stepped into the doorway, holding a scented handkerchief to his face to mask the stench from within.

'What the guard says is true,' he told them. 'Nalademus has been arrested and condemned, and you are all free to go to your homes, wherever they may be.'

Persis Albitane heard the words, and felt an enormous wave of relief surge through him. He struggled to his feet, and turned to help the Veiled Lady to stand. Her face was ghostly white, and gleamed with sweat. Her flesh was hot to the touch, her eyes fever-bright.

'Leave her where she is,' said the guard. 'She's not to be freed.'

'Why?' asked Persis. Most of the Cultists had filed through the doors, anxious to be clear of this dreadful place. They left without a backward glance at the woman. At last only Norwin and Persis remained with her. 'Why?' asked Persis once more.

'Not for me to know,' said the guard. 'Now be on your way.'

'She is sick, and needs help,' said Persis.

'Stay with her then,' sneered the guard. 'I don't mind if you die with her.'

'They cannot stay,' said the councillor.

Persis knelt by the stricken woman. 'I am so sorry,' he said. Her eyes cleared momentarily and she smiled at him. No words were spoken, but her hand reached up and stroked his bearded face. As her skin touched his Persis felt a great warmth begin to flow through him. The searing agony of the abscess on his neck disappeared, and all the pain from the bruises and cuts upon his face and body faded away. Still the warmth grew, as if the sunlight was seeping through his skin, filling his veins with bright light. And with that light came a vast understanding that transcended any intellectual learning. His gaze locked to hers, and tears fell from his eyes. Her hand fell away.

Persis Albitane reached out and stroked her hair. He felt the power move within him. The three men remaining in the cell stood in astonished silence as they saw a pale light glowing round the dying girl. The dreadful, pus-covered whip wounds sealed themselves and healed without scars. The skin of her face began to glow with health, all her bruises disappearing. The light faded and Persis rose. He looked into the eyes of the guard.

'Don't hurt me,' said the man, backing away.

'How could I hurt you more than you are hurting yourself?' Persis asked him. He glanced back at the young woman. She smiled at him, and gestured for him to go. 'Do you have her veil?' asked Persis. The guard nodded dumbly. 'Then fetch it for her. And find her some clean garments and food. Will you do this?'

'I will. I promise,' replied the guard, still terrified.

'Then may the Source bless you,' said Persis. With one last look at the woman in the cell he took Norwin by the arm and walked along the dungeon corridor and up the steps towards the light.

Nalademus was put on trial before Jasaray's Council. The main witness for the defence was Voltan, who told of the murder plot, and also admitted Temple funds were used to help Stone's enemies in the east and prolong the war. Just before sentence Nalademus was allowed to speak. He at first railed at Jasaray – who was not present – accusing him of weakness and divisive policies, undermining the great destiny of Stone, but when sentence of death was passed he collapsed, and was carried from the chamber.

Bane sprinted up the hillside, hurdling a fallen tree, then slowed to an easy run as he entered the woods. The wounds on his left shoulder and side were healing fast. Rage had removed the stitches yesterday. The two men had – at first – exchanged only a few words.

'You are still angry with me,' said Bane, as Rage snipped the last stitch, pulling clear the thread.

'Not angry,' said Rage, 'disappointed.'

'I think you are wrong. I can beat him.'

Rage had shrugged. That is not the point. You no longer need to fight him, to risk throwing away your life. It is not about revenge now, or justice. It is just vanity. He defeated you, and now you must prove that you are the better man. Life should be worth more than that, Bane.'

The words echoed in his mind as he ran. He couldn't explain the depth of his feelings to Rage, nor the despair he had felt through most of his young life. Lia had been the rainbow after the storm, the one great chance to change his destiny. When Voltan killed her he had planted a seed of hatred in Bane's heart, a seed that had flowered and grown. Not a night had passed without Voltan's face hovering in Bane's mind as he slipped into sleep. Not a morning had broken without a thought of the merciless gladiator and the blade that had sent Lia's soul hurtling from the world. For more than two years now the hatred had eaten away at him, and Bane believed it would only pass when he faced the warrior, eye to eye, sword to sword. It was the Rigante way.

Dipping his shoulders Bane powered up yet another hill, then onto a winding path that flowed down into a wooded valley. A low mist drifted across the bracken, and Bane slowed his run, unable to see the ground ahead. The last thing he needed now, a day before the fight, was to twist his ankle on some hidden root or stone. Ahead he saw two men hauling the trunk of a dead tree towards a slope. One was old, with only one arm, the other in his teens. They were struggling with the trunk. A broken branch had wedged itself against a buried rock. The one-armed man chopped off the branch with a hatchet, and they began to pull once more. Bane joined them, grinned at the old man, then took up the end of the rope. The trunk moved more easily now and they hauled it down the slope to a clumsily built cottage beside a stream.

'My thanks to you,' said the old man. 'We would have made it, but by heavens it was quite an effort.'

'You are Bane,' said the slim, dark-haired youngster. 'I saw you fight Dex.'

The older man moved in closer and peered at Bane. 'Aye, you have the look of a swordsman,' he said, his voice less friendly.

'Is it true you are to fight Voltan?' asked the youngster.

'Aye, it is true.'

'I hope you make him die slowly!'

'That is enough!' roared the old man. 'I don't want to see any man die slow, not even foul creatures like him. There has been more than enough killing already.'

'How can you say that?' asked the young man. 'He was one of those who murdered our friends, took them for burning. He deserves a painful death.'

The older man sat down on the fallen tree, pulled clear the leather cup which covered the stump of his left wrist, and scratched at the scarred and puckered skin. He glanced up at Bane. 'As I said, our thanks to you. Do not let us keep you from your training.'

Bane stood for a moment, then ran on, heading back up the slope, and off onto an old deer track. As he reached the higher ground he saw the city below him, glistening in the early light. His legs were tired now, his calves burning.

The bathhouse at Circus Occian was open, though the water was not yet heated, and Bane moved through to the new open-air training area, designed by Rage. Several of the younger gladiators were already there, hoisting weights under the supervision of Telors. Bane stretched out his aching muscles, then did some light work on the climbing ropes, hauling himself up to the top of the frame and down several times.

Telors joined him. 'Not too much now,' he said. 'Save something for tomorrow.'

'You think I am being foolish?'

'It is not for me to say. Men do what they must. Personally I'd have asked the emperor for a mountain of gold and my own personal whorehouse.' Telors shrugged.

'You've seen him fight,' said Bane. 'Rage does not believe I can take him.'

'Vanni regrets saying that. He wouldn't have wanted to say anything to make you doubt your abilities. He was hoping he could talk you out of the contest.'

'What do you think? Give me the truth.'

'I can't give you the truth, Bane, only opinion. I once saw a big soldier, fully armed, with breastplate, shield and sword, brought down by a boy carrying a makeshift wooden spear. When a man fights anything can happen.' He gave a rueful smile. 'And I'm not going to stand here and tell you how good Voltan is – not the day before you fight him. I can tell you how good you are. You are a match for almost anyone. You have the speed, the strength, and most importantly the heart. I'll be with you tomorrow. I'll put a fine edge on your sword, and your breastplate will gleam with oil.'

'Breastplate? It is a death bout.'

Telors looked uncomfortable. 'The emperor has suspended the usual rules. Voltan will fight without armour of any kind.'

'Then so shall I. It is to be a duel, not an execution.'

'I thought you'd say that,' admitted Telors. 'It does you credit. Rage would have said the same.' A servant called out that the water was heated, and Bane moved back inside.

The bath was sixteen feet long and nine feet wide. Steam was rising from the surface of the water, carrying the scent of lavender. Bane stripped off his clothing and slipped into the water, ducking his head and swimming to the far end, where he sat on a ledge, resting his head on the rounded brass rail surrounding the bath. Tension eased from his muscles.

He lay in the water for some time, then towelled himself dry and wandered to the massage room, where an Occian slave rubbed oil into his skin, and worked on the muscles of his legs and upper back. Bane dozed for a while. When he awoke he found he was alone. The slave had placed warm towels over his body, and had left him sleeping. Rising he went to his locker, put on a fresh tunic and leggings and walked barefoot back into the bathhouse. Leaving his training clothes with a slave for washing he tugged on his boots and walked out into the sunlight.

It was a beautiful day and he strolled along the avenues back towards the villa. Most of the celebrations were over now, but there was still an air of elation over the city. At the villa the gardeners were at work, weeding the flower beds, and Bane saw Cara, dressed in a pale green dress, walking among the roses. A dark-haired and handsome young man was walking with her. Cara saw Bane and waved. He strolled over to them. 'This is Maro,' said Cara. 'He is the son of the general Barus.' Bane shook hands with the man. 'He has come to see Grandfather,' continued Cara, 'but he is still out on his run.'

'He must have taken the western route,' said Bane. 'I have not seen him today.'

'Maro and I are to be married,' said Cara.

'If your grandfather agrees,' put in Maro.

Bane smiled. 'I am sure he will – if that is what you desire, princess. However, I am hurt. I always thought you would save yourself for me.'

'You are too old,' she said, with a mocking grin. 'And not handsome enough.'

Bane put his hand over his heart. 'Women are so cruel. Be warned, Maro!'

He bowed and walked away. Cara ran after him, taking his arm. 'You and Grandfather should end this quarrel,' she told him.

'We have not quarrelled,' he said.

'You do not look me in the eyes any more,' she said suddenly. 'Why is that?'

'Nonsense,' he said, forcing himself to meet her gaze. Her eyes were bright blue and pale. Voltan's eyes. He looked away. 'Your guest is being neglected,' he added.

'Have I done something to offend you, Bane?'

'Not at all.' He felt awkward standing there.

'Are you still planning to fight tomorrow?' she asked him.

'Yes.'

'I met him, you know. Voltan. I met him in the marketplace. I liked him. Oh, I know people say he is evil, but I saw him at one of our meetings. The Veiled Lady touched his head and blessed him. So he can't be all bad.'

Bane sighed. 'I do not know if he is all bad. He killed someone I loved. He will die for that, not for some… political intrigue.'

'He will die anyway, Bane. We all do. It is a shame that you cannot forgive him.'

'Some things cannot be forgiven.'

'I do not believe that.'

'That is because you have never suffered,' he said, a note of anger in his voice. 'It is so easy for people like you, living in luxury, servants attending your every need. What is there to forgive? A cook makes your porridge too thin? Oh, I forgive you. But the women of the Gath who saw their babes plucked from their arms by Stone soldiers, their little heads smashed against the walls of the houses, they know what suffering is. Do they forgive? I saw Voltan plunge his sword into the heart of the woman I loved. He laughed as he did it. And you ask me to forgive? Look around you! Everything you have here – everything in this city – is built on the blood of slaughtered people. Maybe one day they will forgive you. But I doubt it.' Furious now, he strode away from her.

As he reached the front of the house he saw two men walking along the gravel path. 'Persis!' he shouted, and went to meet them. Both were dressed in filthy clothes, which stank horribly.

'It is good to see you, my boy,' said Persis wearily. 'Is there somewhere we can cleanse ourselves of this dungeon aroma?'

'Of course. Follow me.'

Persis was too large and Norwin too small for any of the clothes in the house to fit them, so while they were bathing Bane sent a servant to the market to purchase fresh garments. Cara and Maro, who had seen the men arrive, came to Bane as he waited in the east-facing main living room. 'Was that Persis?' she asked.

'Yes. They were freed yesterday, but with no money and no friends here they sought us out.'

'I am glad that they did. I shall get the cook to prepare them some food.' She moved away and Maro remained. Bane gestured him to a chair.

'I know a friend of yours,' said Maro. 'Banouin.'

'He is not a friend. He is someone I once knew.'

'Oh. I did not realize. He speaks of you fondly.'

'I have always preferred fond deeds to fond words,' said Bane. 'How is he?'

'He left the city this morning. He is going home. I shall miss him.'

Bane had no interest in talking of his former friend, and changed the subject. 'How did you and Cara meet?'

Maro smiled. 'I suppose it is safe to say it now, but I saw her at one of the Veiled Lady's gatherings. Afterwards we talked and…' He spread his hands. 'I grew to love her. I shall be nineteen in three weeks. We plan to wed then.'

'She is a fine girl.'

'I know that.'

'What are your plans?'

'I shall become a soldier, like my father.'

'A soldier?' queried Bane. 'I thought you Cultists did not believe in war.'

'I am not a Cultist. I have attended their meetings, and there is much about their philosophy that I admire. But this is not a perfect world, and there are many dangers in it. I am perfectly willing to offer love and generosity of spirit to all I meet, but there will be a sword at my side in case that generosity and love are not reciprocated.'

Bane nodded agreement. 'How does Cara feel about this?' 'How do you think?' responded Maro, with a grin.